The Days of the Deer (29 page)

More men arrived from Beleram to help cover a constantly growing area. The warriors organized themselves in small bands which in those days became known as Goads. The Deer set out to defend the
uncertain possibility of staying alive with such immense courage that he flew through the air. And it was at this time that someone made up a song about Dulkancellin’s bravery, which spread
from mouth to mouth.

Yet as the days went by, and despite their courage, the victories became fewer and more hard-fought.

The Sideresians regrouped and began to return the blows. The Deer could no longer count on surprise in attack. The weapons that killed with fire were waiting for them, and the hungry dogs
foaming at the mouth.

The Deer knew that this was only the start of the war, that the Sideresians were no more than the claws of Misáianes’ outstretched hands. The master of the Sideresians wanted to
take possession of every last corner of Creation. And even if the Fertile Lands defended themselves with every last bit of their strength, was there any hope against the Ferocious One?

On their side, the Fertile Lands had the magic from the south, which roamed the mountains in the shape of an old, old man. And the magic of the Open Air, which was at one with the sky. On his
side, Misáianes could count on a legion of ancient wizards who had become cruel within the solitude of their walls. What each side said was very similar. And the war had only just begun.

The bands known as the Goads kept in contact with one another the whole time, and with Beleram. They knew where each other was, and they all received aid from the House of the Stars. In that way
they could make up their losses and share their victories.

The first weapons and animals seized as booty were sent back to Beleram. Soon, however, the Deer understood the need to keep fixed strongholds in the jungle. He chose convenient places and sent
all that was won in the battles out to them. One of these strongholds was set up on the banks of the Red River, close to where the first attack had taken place. The other was hidden beyond the
rocky outcrops which a little further to the east, in the centre of the territory, became the range of mountains known as the Jaguar’s Teeth. Both places served to store provisions, to supply
care for the wounded, and reinforcements in men and weapons. This was where all the information was received, and the next steps decided on.

As the days went by, skirmishes with the Sideresians became less and less frequent, until they almost completely stopped. The latest news reaching the strongholds was either wrong or out of
date; in the end this only exhausted the warriors in useless manoeuvres.

‘They must have built their fortress somewhere in the Fertile Lands,’ said Dulkancellin in a meeting with his men. ‘That must be where the commanders are, those who know
Misáianes’ plans ... and where can they protect the powder they use for their weapons? Their main force cannot be these small handfuls of men we come across. There must be a place
where their power is concentrated, and it cannot be far from here.’

It was night again, and nothing was happening. In their strongholds, the warriors of the Fertile Lands slept uneasily. This calm filled with fears and suspicions was not to their liking: they
preferred to fight.

Dulkancellin approached one of the sentries, seeking the company of another man who was awake. Seated on the same fallen trunk, he silently helped him keep watch in the night.
At first light,
I must talk with the others
, thought the Husihuilke.
We cannot linger here if the Sideresians have already left. Who knows? Perhaps we are exactly where they want us to be.

His thoughts were answered shortly before the night’s end. The Supreme Astronomers sent out a call that Dulkancellin was the first to hear. The messenger, who had covered the distance
between the House of the Stars and their camp in as short a time as possible, told him, still panting for breath:

‘The Supreme Astronomers send word ... They say that everyone is to return at once to the House of the Stars. Everyone except for those chosen to stay behind and defend the strongholds.
The Astronomers say to make haste, great haste. That is all.’

This order did no more than confirm what all of them thought should be done, and it was followed enthusiastically. The men who were to stay in the jungle were chosen, as were their leaders and
runners. All the others set off again.

Four long days to return. As the fifth day was dawning, Elek and Dulkancellin entered the observatory. They were encouraged by Zabralkán’s mood: even Bor seemed less gloomy than
usual. Molitzmós, who was also present, rose to greet them as they crossed the threshold.

‘Greetings, brother warrior!’ he said, embracing Dulkancellin. ‘Many have wished to talk of your courage, but could not find the words to do it justice. We know that you alone
vanquished as many enemies as ten of our best warriors could have done.’

Dulkancellin was unable to receive praise without bridling. And he blamed his unease at the way the Lord of the Sun had received him on this weakness of his.

‘We fought with good results for as long as we could,’ he said, hoping to silence Molitzmós with this brief answer.

‘You will soon be fighting again,’ said Zabralkán. ‘And this time it will be a great battle.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Elek.

‘I mean that the Sideresians have their main fortress in the Border Hills. And that it is there that they are gathering their troops to march against us in a few days’
time.’

This news from the Supreme Astronomer was no reason for him to appear so optimistic. But he had not finished.

‘You explain the rest, brother Bor,’ said Zabralkán.

Bor was pleased to be given the opportunity to tell them the good news.

‘We have learnt with all certainty that two armies are coming to our aid. From the south, and already very close to us, are the Husihuilkes. They are led by someone we believe must be that
Kupuka of whom Dulkancellin has so often spoken. There is still more. There can be no doubt our emissaries reached the land of the Lords of the Sun because from there – take heart,
Molitzmós! – a powerful force is heading our way.’

Elek could see that this was the first Molitzmós had heard of this development. Not because of Bor’s reference to him, but because of the stab of surprise that left the Lord of the
Sun looking aghast. Dulkancellin however was already caught up in his own emotions, and so did not see the change.

‘Thank you,’ was all the Husihuilke was heard to say. And nobody knew who this was aimed at.

25

The hoops made Molitzmós’s ears seem elongated. The feathered cape sweeping
the ground when he walked made him look enormous. Or at least that was how the
Zitzahay children saw him: like an enormous brightly coloured bird standing by the side of the pond.

Molitzmós had his eyes half closed to stare straight at the sun. The light that evening created a space of its own around the pond: a space Molitzmós’s eyes filled with
people he knew, words that had already been spoken, and far-off events.

The blood that the Lord of the Sun saw pouring from the edges of the sun came from old wounds. His father and twelve of his brothers had died to win power for his House throughout the empire. He
had been very young then, but still could see in his mind’s eye the worst battle between the two Houses always disputing the legitimate right to the throne.

The day his grandfather was on his deathbed, he demanded to see Molitzmós. When he was near, he went over the boy’s duties one last time. Molitzmós remembered how the list
had begun: ‘We have educated you for high command.’ By then he was the only suitable heir, chosen above brothers and sisters who were too young – some of them sickly, one an idiot
– and a threatening group of disloyal cousins. He had been taught the arts of alliances and betrayals. Now he had to make sure his House occupied its rightful place as ruler of the vast
territory of the Lords of the Sun. His grandfather already smelt of death. Molitzmós swore him an oath he had never forgotten. Then he had to bide his time, growing up and learning that
there was only one way to seize the throne: by spilling the blood of others.

The colours of the sunset stained the air a deep red round the pond. When the children hiding behind a sculpted rock saw this, they thought that nightfall would soon mean they could not spy on
Molitzmós any longer. He, though, knew this was not the sunset, but the blood needed to win victory.

‘I swore as much to the father of my father. And the truth is I have not yet fulfilled that oath to place our House higher than all the rest.’ Molitzmós saw himself saying
these words to the man from the Ancient Lands. He reflected how hard it was to know how long ago this was. Neither a long nor a short time. A gulf.

After that conversation, events had rushed onwards like the water in a river waterfall. Molitzmós, who once knew where everything began and where it was destined to end, was no longer so
sure. Someone from the Ancient Lands came to speak to him of Misáianes. In his name, he offered a pact between the powerful. ‘So that the House of Molitzmós shall always rule
over the Lords of the Sun. And the Lords of the Sun over the Fertile Lands.’ Molitzmós accepted, thinking this was the way to fulfil his promise to his grandfather.
Misáianes’ offer came when he had almost lost hope of being able to do so: it even offered him the chance to climb still higher.
‘The Lords of the Sun can be lords of the
Fertile Lands’
: that was even more than what his grandfather had asked. The pact had appeared so obvious that Molitzmós could not understand why a misty cloud seemed to be
obscuring the centre of the light enveloping the pond.

He was keeping his side of the bargain. And if it had not been for the little Zitzahay, who always popped up where he was not wanted, the results would have been even better. He had not failed
in anything, even in the secret successes. Thanks to his work blowing and blowing on the coals of arrogance, Bor was dreaming of a past of Enclosures that distanced him from Zabralkán and
the rest of the Creatures.

Misáianes had wanted a crack in the Magic of the Fertile Lands ... and now he had it! Molitzmós had succeeded in forcing one open, and making it bleed. The children saw the crack
in the sky and thought it was the start of night.

‘I have done all they asked of me.’ From some part of the dying light, the Sideresian nodded in agreement. ‘I deceived the reigning House with false rumours and provocations. I
put many of my allies in danger with an untimely revolt. I did all this so that you could take advantage of the confusion and install yourselves in our lands. I hid the truth, confused the weak,
protected the flight of your ships ...’ Molitzmós shouted at the light hovering over the pond. ‘And in return ... what has your master done? Very little. I hardly receive any
messages from him any more. Should I not know what his plans are if, as he said, we are equal partners in our agreement?’ The light heard Molitzmós out, then smiled from afar. This
happened just as a crescent moon appeared in the sky.

Yet Molitzmós understood what he seemed not to know, and had his own answers. The Lord of the Sun never believed that Misáianes considered him his equal in power. He knew the
ambitions of the Ferocious One, and because of that was glad to be his eyes and his arms in the Fertile Lands. Misáianes’ most loyal subjects would be princes in the realm of
vanquished Creation. And he would be one of them ...

The light over the pond was fading, but Molitzmós could still see a space filled with the presence of memories.

He himself was there, expressing his disbelief at the first promise the Sideresian had made him. ‘Tell me, who can possibly think that the Magic of the Fertile Lands will choose me,
precisely me, to go to their Great Council? Rest assured, I will not be the one who goes as the representative of our people, but someone from the reigning House. However much the Supreme
Astronomers say they are impartial, I know they consider our fight for the throne to be illegitimate and cruel.’ The Sideresian heard him out, and smiled. ‘Molitzmós, just
wait... simply wait. You’ll see that one day soon a messenger will come to your door to take you to Beleram.’ On that occasion, Misáianes had kept his word. As he had when he
promised that Illán-che-ñe would be his servant, with no will of his own.

Many years earlier, the struggle for the throne had led the Lords of the Sun to battle. Still only a child, Molitzmós had seen his House defeated. Whenever one of his brothers did not
return, his father’s wives gathered to mourn the dead warrior. Molitzmós recalled their tears. When his father was stabbed in the back, everyone suspected each other. He could remember
all the whispers and bewilderment. The shameful gifts that the victors offered to buy off their former enemies: Molitzmós remembered that too. But above all else, he recalled his
grandfather’s ire at their unworthy surrender. After this there was a period of apparent calm, when many of his House, especially those who could not disguise their hatred, had to endure all
kinds of humiliation and suffering.